


Command

by east_sunrise



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Pilot Reader, Reader-Insert, Sassy Poe Dameron, Smut, sexy latino in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22569445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/east_sunrise/pseuds/east_sunrise
Summary: Poe Dameron is the hotshot, smartass pilot of the Resistance, but he seems to have finally met his match.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Reader, Poe Dameron/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 168





	Command

**Author's Note:**

> So this plot kind of required Reader to be a pilot, but I didn’t want to cause any plot holes or character erasure from the actual universe. Inferno Squadron exists only in my universe. I always had a headcanon that Poe is so much less smooth when he’s around people that he’s super attracted to, so we see more soft!Poe in this fic.

You walk into the command center, approaching the flight command terminal. The center is a bustle of activity, always was even this early in the morning, but you slip through the crowd effortlessly, smiling and greeting those who you saw. You finally reach the terminal and snap a smart salute at the woman behind the terminal.

“Inferno Leader, checking in for squad patrol coordinates.” 

She shakes her head, grinning ruefully, “Maker you’re going to do that every time aren’t you?” 

You smile right back, “You know me, Kassa. I’ll do it until I’m certain that you remember my callsign.”

Kassa rolls her eyes, “That was one time.”

You lean forward onto the desk, giving the Togruta a wink, “One time too many, Daal. I would be happy never having to fly with Black Squadron again.”

Her first day on the job, Kassa Daal had accidentally screwed up the callsigns of Inferno and Black Squadron. The mistake led to you and Jess swapping squadrons for the day, and even though you genuinely liked Jess Pava, you had no idea how she handled her squadron on a day to day basis. You could barely handle seeing Dameron a couple times a day at mealtimes and training calls, but having to fly under him had been an absolute nightmare. Since then, you had been promoted to Inferno Leader, and you were grateful that you were never going to have to fly according to the orders of Poe Dameron ever again.

A voice behind you cheerfully pipes, “And I would be glad to never have to fly with you in my squadron ever again.”

Your eyes involuntarily roll to the back of your head and you turn to face the cause of your biggest headache. “Dameron.”

He smiles at you, “I have a first name, you know.”

You cock your head and raise an eyebrow, “Yeah, I know. Just don’t care, though.”

He smirks, “You know, I technically outrank you, so you should be a little more respectful.” He puts an elbow up on the counter, leaning on it as he leers at you.

“Is that an order, Commander?” You stare up into his eyes, challenging him.

He rests a hand on his hip, “I can make it one.”

You outright laugh at that, “Go ahead.”

He chuckles at that one, “And again, I’m reminded of why Leia promoted you to Inferno leader. You win this round, Captain.” He turns and winks at Kassa, “Kassa, be a darling and get me the Black patrol coordinates?”

To her credit, Kassa only snorts at him before pulling up his patrol coordinates. “Black Squadron is going to be monitoring the Celanon Spur outposts. Sending the star coordinates to your X-Wing… now.”

He gives you one last arrogant smirk before swinging around and swaggering off, tossing over his shoulder, “You’re a gem, Daal!”

You wait until he has completely melted into the crowd before whipping back around, “Maker I can’t stand him.”

Kassa only smiles knowingly, “If you can’t stand him, why did you come to flight command so early when you don’t have patrol until evening? Black Squadron is also the only one that’s scheduled today besides you.” Blood rushes to your face, and you cover your face, not even trying to justify yourself to her. “Honestly, you really need to take care of that soon.”

You peek out from the safety of your own arms, “Take care of what?”

She rolls her eyes,”The raging sexual tension.” You throw your hands up and groan so loudly that everyone walking around the flight station paused a half step and glances at you before continuing on their business. She continues, “I’m serious! You two need to go and get it out. It’s making everyone uncomfortable.” You begin to walk anyplace where this conversation isn’t happening, but you don’t get away before you see the smug smirk on Kassa’s face.

You fume as you walked the corridors. You finally find yourself at the hangar, and walk through the blast doors. You grabbed the toolbox and storm over to you X-Wing. Even though you’re technically a pilot, you had been raised around ships and knew your way around your well enough to do basic maintenance check ups. The Rebellion mechanics trust you to take care of your X-Wing, and know that you would treat her better than an Imperial destroyer. You solder iron connectors to the back-up hyperdrive generator, and reinforce a couple of places on the fuselage. 

As you work, you feel yourself calming down and viewing the particular problem before you with new eyes. Yes, you found Poe Dameron to be annoying, irritating, and arrogant. But you also saw his bravery and kindness, and you admired his ability to stand for what he believed in. You would never admit to his face that he’s a better pilot than you, of course, but you know that Dameron is nearly unmatched in his overall ability to fly anything remotely resembling a plane.

You finish up and clean your area before going to your quarters for a shower. You have nothing better to do until evening patrol, so you walk to the eating area and grab some caf before going and sitting at a table in the corner. The transparisteel shows a decent view of Ajan Kloss, and you allow your mind to drift as you sip your drink and watch the different life flash in and out of the trees. 

You’re a pilot, and a damn good one. And no one is ever going to take that from you, not even a stupidly good looking pilot with stupidly beautiful hair who could probably outmaneuver a TIE fighter and dodge Imperial Destroyer fire at the same time, all while firing off snarky comments to whoever is listening. 

The chair across from you scrapes against metal, and you turn your head. Ah well, think of the Sith and they shall appear. Dameron himself is standing there, arms crossed and holding his own cup of caf. 

You sigh, head hanging back, “Dameron. You want to sit?”

He stays where he is, refusing to peel his eyes away from the forest, “Nope. I’m good.”

You get to your feet, "Well then, I’ll be going.” You had no intention of sticking around in even the general vicinity of wherever he was. You could barely think straight when Dameron wasn’t near you, and if you were going to sort out your feelings then it was probably best to do so where you couldn’t get distracted by his perfect face. 

“Don’t go.”

You pause at the statement, unable to see his face from your current stance, “Was that an order, Commander?”

He gives a half-hearted laugh, “Only if you want it to be.”

Now that is different. You turn back around, “Come on, Dameron. Where’s the smartass comment? Are you sick?” You smirk, “Do you need me to fly Black Squadron for you tomorrow?”

He glares at you, “No.” He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and for a second his face darkens and he looks a little panicked. Which is interesting because you have seen Dameron operating under the weight of the entire Resistance, and never once has he looked this unsure of himself. Finally, he seems to collect himself and his words enough for a single question, “Can we talk?”

You had not expected that. You fumble a bit before finally offering up a weak, “Yeah.” 

He pushes himself to his feet, “Let’s go somewhere a little more private.”

You follow him out of the cafeteria, and he set off in the direction of the corridors that housed the living quarters. You both walk in silence, and you realize with a shock that this was the most time you had ever spent with Poe Dameron at one time. Usually, you both stuck around long enough to needle and jab at each other before heading off to your own business. It was also interesting, considering Dameron’s usual track record with every being that he came into contact with. He flirts with everything else, and yet he seemed to skip that stage with you, going straight to the sarcastic jabs and biting humor. And that bothers you. You finally admitted it. It bothers you, that he hadn’t ever seemed to notice you other than to toss out a passive aggressive, snarky comment. 

You reach your destination, and Poe punches a code into the screen, walking straight through the sliding door without a backwards glance at you. You walk into the makeshift briefing room. Flashbacks of critical mission briefings come to you as you look at the metal benches around the room, centered around a central map mission platform. Honestly, it isn’t even a briefing room, more like the only soundproof room in the entirety of the base, so everything confidential was held here. 

Dameron plops himself on one of the benches, and you place yourself next to him, carefully staying a healthy distance away. He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his curls and chuckling, “So this is kind of awkward isn’t it?”

You roll your eyes, “Honestly Dameron, you’re the one who dragged me down here. For such a smooth flirt, you’re terrible at talking about real shit, aren’t you?” You lean back, stretching your arms above your head as you relax into the bench. No matter your feelings for the hot pilot sitting next to you, you’re professional until others make it not. 

He groans, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Your eye twitches when you get annoyed.”

He sends you heart meltingly beautiful smirk, “Only because it’s you who annoys me.”

“Feeling’s mutual, Dameron.” 

There are a couple seconds of silence before he turns to face you, grin spreading over his face, “Wait, you think I’m a smooth flirt?”

It’s your turn to groan, “Unfortunately. Probably better at it than you are at piloting.”

Indignance flashes across his face,”I’m a damn good pilot, for your information.”

You laugh at the childish expression on his face, “I never said you weren’t.”

“So you finally admit that I’m a good pilot? Let Maker witness.” He raises his arms in mock worship to the nonexistent heavens, and you both laugh at that. There is a comfortable pause, both of you just enjoying each other’s company, and the lack of a bustling Resistance base. When he speaks again, it’s in a soft tone, “This is nice.”

You snort, “All it took for us to get along was locking ourselves in the briefing room.”

“And a little bit of effort on Jess’s part.”

You take a moment to process what he had just said, “Jess?” 

He laughs, “She cornered me after we got back from patrol and said that if I didn’t take care of whatever was going on between us soon, she was going to tell the General.”

You bark out an incredulous laugh, sitting up, “Are we talking about the same Jessika Pava?”

He sighs, leaning back against the bench and stretching out his arms. You don’t miss how his hand comes dangerously close to brushing your shoulder. “Yup. I guess some things can drive the most stable people to the brink of insanity.”

“Even to the point of threatening to set your adoptive mother on us. Maker, what did the rest of the squadron think?”

He gives another chuckle at that statement, “They were in agreement, actually, but the fact that Jess was the one who snapped was surprising. But she really exploded. I believe her exact wording was, ‘Go figure this out. Use the conference room, but just don’t bang in there or General Organa will really lose her shit.”

He stiffens at the last part, and you turn the words over in your head before making a decision. You scooched closer, “Well, I’ve always been a spiteful person.” His eyes dart to you, and is the amazing Poe Dameron nervous? Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, “And I have a couple hours until I’m needed in the hangar for patrol.” He turns to face you, but you cut him off as you climb onto him and straddle his lap, “So, what do you say, Dameron?” 

You grind down on his lap, and he gasps before his hands come up and entwine in your hair, pulling you down for a bruising kiss. You moan at the sudden movement, licking into his mouth as you roll your hips into his. When you both have to come up for air, he rasps, “You’ll be saying my name, by the end of this.”

Maker his voice sounds good like that. “Is that an order, Dameron?”

He grins and pulls your head down to rest your forehead against his. “We’ll see.” A thrill runs through you at you gaze into his lust blown pupils, all kinds of dirty promises reflected in his even darker gaze. 

Then, without warning, he grasps your hips and pulls you onto the bench next to him. Before you can blink, he’s between your thighs, pulling down the zipper of your flight uniform. He pulls it off of your shoulders, and lifts your hips slightly so that he can shove it under your ass. You hiss as your bare skin comes into contact with the cold metal, but you’re quickly distracted by a warm heat on your inner thighs. You arch back against the metal as his tongue curls around your skin, flicking out to graze your clit. Your hands fly out instinctively and bury themselves in his curls, but then his mouth is pulling away from your dripping cunt and a whimper is escaping your throat at the loss.

He bats your hands away, “No touching. Not until I say so. Understand?”

You barely manage a nod before he smirks at you and dives back in, ravishing your inner thighs with kisses and nips and purposefully staying away from the one place that you need him to touch. You suck a breath in through your teeth, hands clenched at your side and fingernails digging into your palms as you fight the urge to do anything– to touch his face, hair, hands, fuck even to touch yourself as though he’d ever let you get away with it. You need more, crave it, but he keeps away from your cunt. You whine in frustration as a heat builds in your core, a fire that’s so close but so unreachable at the same time, “Please.” 

He pulls away and smiles up at you innocently from between your trembling thighs. “Beg for it.”

Fuck you want it so bad, but that infuriating smirk on his face only strengthened your resolve to resist. You just bite your lip, looking down at him pleadingly. He laughs, “Well, points for not caving so easily.” His head ducks back down between your legs, and the first touch had you squirming against the unyielding metal behind your back as he pushes your underwear roughly to the side and finally, finally, drags his tongue along the length of your soaked pussy. 

“Fuck, Dameron. Maker, just–just like that.”

The heat in your belly flares, and you gasp as he circles your clit with his tongue. Fuck, it’s never felt this good before. His tongue ghosts over your cunt and you whimper as you try to resist the temptation to beg. When he spreads your lips with his hands and laves his tongue over you, the fire in your core licks higher and higher, causing your body to tense and you to give a soft cry of pleasure. He tastes you like a man dying of thirst, like you’re the last source of life for miles. 

Then he pushes a finger inside you up to the second knuckle, and you’re pretty sure that if you had been standing, your legs would have collapsed out from under you. A noise is pulled from your throat that is ridiculously obscene, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can feel the heat in your abdomen spiking, tightening, coiling, and slowly working its way up your body. Your cries increase in pitch as you grow closer and closer to the wave breaking, and you’re almost there when he pulls away, and you almost cry in disappointment. You can feel the fire in your core receding, the air returning to your lungs as Dameron looks at you with that same insufferable smirk on his face.

He locks gazes with you, and the challenge is apparent in his eyes. You feel your lungs constricting around a building sob as your cunt clenches around the digit still buried in your cunt. He crooks it just barely, and the stimulation breaks the dam. You moan low in the back of your throat, “Fuck. Please. I need you.” 

He cocks his head at you, considering it for a long moment before shrugging, “Good enough for me.” With that, he pulls his finger out and uses his other hand to turn you around so that your forearms are braced against the bench, and you’re standing on legs that are shakier than a newborn fathier. A rustling sound is heard, and then you cry out as his fingers dip into your dripping slit again. The sound of him smearing your wetness over his cock is almost enough to make you beg again. Almost. 

And then he’s rubbing the head of his dick between your soaked lips and pushing in–in–in. Your breath catches in your chest as he stretches your slick walls, filling you up so perfectly. His hand comes up to hold your hip, and it takes all of the willpower you have to not shove yourself back and impale yourself on his cock. Your toes curl at the sensation and your eyes roll back in your head as he bottoms out, your nerves and brain overwhelmed by the feeling of him rubbing up against every square millimeter of you. As if sensing the overstimulation, his hand strokes over your hip, one coming up to caress your shoulder blade, “You okay, sweetheart?” He sounds absolutely wrecked, like there are mere strings of self-control holding him together.

You take a shuddering breath, “Yeah, give me a second. It’s been a while.” Blood pounds in your ears as you try to focus on your breathing, even though he is there, pressed flush to your sweaty body, so warm and alive and Maker can you feel his cock twitching in your cunt? Stars, you need him now.

His hand brushes over your neck as it twines into your hair. “Can’t promise I’m going to be gentle. It’s been a while for me too.”

You breath shakily, “No one asked you to be Dameron.” You grit your teeth as he grinds slowly into you, apparently as eager to move as you are. “Fuck, please move.”

He slides out of you slowly, every millimeter sending shockwaves of pleasure up your spine, “Is that an order?”

You laugh breathlessly as the head stops at your entrance, your passage achingly empty, “Do you want it to be, Commander?”

He doesn’t answer, but instead slams back into you, and you scream at the sudden stretch. He sets a rapid pace, pounding into your body and all you can do is take it. His length fills you up so well, and tears are beading at the edge of your vision from the pure pleasure engulfing your body right now. Someone’s crying out, and you barely register that the moans are from you before he hits that one spot and– Maker he needs to do that again. The hand in your hair tightens, and suddenly your neck is pulled back and the new angle–

Oh fuck.

The newfound leverage allows Poe to drive into you and brush over that one spot that makes your vision short out temporarily. Your chest tightens as he continues to drive into you, the fire climbing up your chest until it finally nears its crest.

“Poe, Poe– I’m gonna–” His rhythm falters for the barest second before he finds it again, hitting that spot inside you that makes your whole body seize over and over. Your orgasm takes you by surprise, and then you’re pulled under by a wave of white-hot fire sweeping over your body.

Your vision fades to white, and you’re vaguely aware of Poe groaning behind you as he continues to slam into you, “Stars, you–fuck–you get so fucking tight when you come. I’ve wanted to do this for so long– maker you look so good like this, all spread out for me.”

The first breath that returns to your lungs is a blessedly cool gasp of air, and the second is used as you begin to babble, “Poe–fuck–Poe please. Need you so much.”

He sounds completely gone as he readjusts his grip on your hair, “I know–fuck you feel so good. Gonna– gonna cum. Where?”

You nod, “Inside. It’s safe.”

He thrusts into you one-two-three more times before he shudders and comes with a broken gasp of your name. You moan shakily as you feel him spill into you. Another orgasm sweeps over you at the feeling of warm seed being pumped into your body, shorting out your brain yet again as the wave hits you and your body shakes. You both stay frozen in your positions for a while, unwilling to shatter the seemingly fragile moment, before your legs start to tremble uncontrollably and Poe pulls out to catch you before you collapse to the ground. 

He carefully places you on the pile of clothes on the floor, and you hum gratefully as he pulls you into his arms, your back pressed against his warm chest. You both bask in the post coital bliss for several moments, before he ducks his head to nuzzle against your neck, “Told you I could get you to say my name by the end of it.”

You turn your head and smile into his curls, “I had you saying mine too, Poe.”

He chuckles, and is about to respond when you both register the telltale beeps coming from the general direction of the closed doors. You scramble to your feet as the door chimes to admit whoever is standing at the keypad. Poe is faster and positions himself between you and the door, one arm held to keep you behind him and the other holding your crumpled flight suit over his crotch. You barely manage to step into Poe’s stained uniform and drag the zipper halfway up before Jess walks into the room and stops dead in her tracks when she sees you and Poe standing there half-naked.

It’s hard to tell who is more horrified in the moment, before Jess shrieks and then Poe is grabbing your hand and bolting out of the room laughing. He barely stops to tie your flight uniform over his bare waist like a thin, bright orange, wrinkled hoodie as the two of you sprint towards the officers quarters. 

As you both tear through the corridors, Jess’s furious yell echoes off the walls, “Dameron you drukhead, I was joking about fucking in the conference room!”


End file.
